


They taste like honey

by The Cheshire Kitty (Stregatta)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Recreational Drug Use, a boring low after the high, to be honest it's all very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29820453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stregatta/pseuds/The%20Cheshire%20Kitty
Summary: Somewhere in Vegas, someone is sulking in a red heart-shaped bath tub.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	They taste like honey

Charles has never bathed in a red tub before.

He ponders that, according to one's current mood, it might either look like floating in a pool of blood or in a cherry liquor one. Either the worst of nightmares of the weirdest of dreams.

He's disregarded any fancy body wash provided by the hotel to fill the heart-shaped tub with iced water only, getting rid of what was left of his clothes in the meantime; he has dipped his leg in with all the care he was capable of, adjusting gradually to the familiar but still uncomfortable sensation.

The discomfort eventually disappeared, leaving him with nothing. His head is still swimming just as much as his body, immersed in a cherry liquor puddle he cannot smell nor taste - he can see it, pale naked and distorted, something else, someone else's.

He lifts a hand, fingertips wrinkly and pasty and vaguely disgusting, water softly splashing back in place, rippling and making it all confused and squiggly like the music he can hear coming from beyond the bathroom door. Bass worming its way towards him, the tub faintly vibrating along.

Charles would ask him to lower the volume, if he felt like himself again as he hoped he'd feel by taking a bath.

There's nothing much he can do, with a body he cannot fully recognize and a head that barely cooperates.

It's not fun anymore. Not when you stop seeing strange rainbows and lights chasing after you like they are alive, luminescent mosquitoes, fluorescent butterflies – not when you cannot see his voice painting the walls in honey, his eyes glowing amber, the living lights attracted to him like he's the brightest of them all and now...

Now Charles is hiding from him, and from himself, trying to jolt his body and mind awake instead of having the feeling dripping out of him so slow, so slow...

It was a bad idea, he is a bad idea. He shouldn't listen to him, no matter what he says and what everyone else says. Honey is sticky and amber traps and lights lure.

The bass is suddenly stronger, the tub shakes and so does he.

“ Just checking if you're alive.”

_ Not thanks to you _ , Charles would snarl at him if only he was confident enough to speak.

He might give it a try, though, if only to check what his voice is like at the moment – minutes before, it was a twirly line unraveling from between his teeth and it fucking  _ glittered _ and it was _ fucking fuchsia _ .

He wonders whether his voice could strangle him, or prevent him from sliding any closer, and lie down on the tub's large edge.

He doesn't want him dead. He wants him to shut up. Even now that he's not talking.

As soon as he hears him speak, Charles closes his eyes – afraid of honey.

“ You're too independent. In your condition, you need assistance.”

_ Then you could have come before, you asshole. I could have drowned. And you would have had to tell Maman and my brothers and Mattia and they, oh. They would have had you strangled indeed, boy _ .

“ You were high too,” Charles says. No fuchsia glittery ribbon escaping his lips.

The low is so fucking boring. He's just a jittery numb jumble of limbs in cold water.

“ You should have told me.”

“ Told you what?”

“ That it would have fucking sucked, afterwards.”

“ I should have told you that after a high always comes a low? Sorry for thinking that’s common knowledge, mate.”

The sarcastic edge makes his voice sour. What colour could have been, before?

Oh, God, he wants to strangle him so bad.

A side of his face grows warmer, the warmth propagating like a wave across his cheek.

“ I'm sorry... You're right. I should have warned you.”

_ Don't touch me, please _ , Charles thinks as he leans onto the hand caressing him, and his mouth opens to welcome his fingers inside.

They taste like honey.


End file.
